


...has nothing to do with meaning it

by Ischa



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s04e18 The Wall, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wall. Sylar is gay, Peter is not.</p>
<p>
  <i>He can't bring himself to touch Sylar, he can't. But he can take off his clothes and sit down on the couch with his legs spread, running one hand teasingly over his exposed skin.<br/>He can't look at Sylar either.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	...has nothing to do with meaning it

**Title:** ...has nothing to do with meaning it   
 **Pairing:** Sylar/Peter   
 **Rating:** NC-17    
 **Summary:** The Wall. Sylar is gay, Peter is not. (From the prompt, but it sums it up)  
  **Warning(s):** angst, blow-job, mild violence, voyeurism, masturbation, spoilers up to The Wall   
 **Author’s Notes:** Written for ariana_paris. Title by Maroon 5 (full quote: 'Cause saying I love you has nothing to do with meaning it'). Also, this is not a PWP, even if it sounds like one.    
 **Word Count:** 1.343  
  **Beta:** asm_z  
  **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
~One~

~+~  
The first time it happens it's kind of an accident. They were banging against the wall for hours and hours and hours to no end and he got frustrated. He often gets frustrated these days. He started a fight with Sylar, because that's how things work between them now. They start screaming and fighting and hit each other so the tension can bleed out and they can start a new day. A new day that will be like the rest of them, like the last, like the next.  
Sylar is particularly vicious on that day, hitting with all he has. He is bigger than Peter and Peter didn't expect it. So many reasons. He lands on the hard pavement and drags Sylar with him. Sylar hitting him hard and knocking all the air out of his lungs. He squeezes his eyes shut as the pain hits him like a wave. Sylar's panting above him, Peter can feel his breath on his neck. He counts to three and bucks his hips and Sylar goes rigid. He's not even breathing.  
And that's the moment it hits him. Really hard.  
He knows, he _knows_ that Sylar can't help it when he presses closer to Peter, their hips aligned, and it's been so long since he had another human being to get him off. So fucking long.  
It's hard and fast and as soon as Peter comes he wants to push Sylar away from him. He wants to be somewhere else, anywhere else. But he's pinned and spent and so fucking...happy maybe, that he doesn't. He let's Sylar finish and then pushes him off, hard and unexpected, gets up and doesn't look back.

~+~  
He doesn't talk to Sylar for three days and knows that it's a dick-move to do so. He can't help it. He isn't sure he can face Sylar.  
Not with the things he now knows about him.

~+~  
“I thought you and Elle?!” he demands as he comes back on day four. He finds Sylar at the wall, not doing anything, just staring.

“Yeah, there was something...but...” he trails off. Shrugging.

“You like to fuck guys more?!” And this question is unnecessary and phrased unnecessarily cruel as well.

Sylar just nods.

And Peter doesn't know what to say. He just doesn't.

 

~Two~

~+~  
“Make a wish,” Sylar says one morning while he is blowing over his coffee. Peter is sure he thought he was alone in the apartment.

“It's your birthday?” he asks. Sylar startles and nods. “So, what did you wish for?” he asks.

“To get out of here,” Sylar answers and Peter knows he's lying.

~+~  
He can't bring himself to touch Sylar, he can't. But he can take off his clothes and sit down on the couch with his legs spread, running one hand teasingly over his exposed skin.  
He can't look at Sylar either. Can't, just can't. But he also can't block out the noises Sylar makes. It shouldn't be, but it is a turn on that someone wants him so fucking much. He doesn't even imagine anyone else watching him. He just feels his own fingers on his skin. Running teasingly along his ribs down and over the insides of his thighs. Neglecting his cock for now.  
He can hear harsh breathing and the rustling of clothes and a sharp intake of air, as his fingers curl around his dick. Stroking slowly down and up and down again. Speeding up. Skin on skin. And the sounds they produce. He nearly opens his eyes as he realises that Sylar mimics his rhythm on his own cock. He bites his lips instead and waits for his orgasm to hit.  
He waits with his eyes closed until he's sure Sylar isn't in the room anymore, then he gets up and heads for the shower.  
He has no idea why he did it and he doesn't want to think about it either. The water is washing everything away, but he doesn't feel much cleaner. He shouldn't have done it. It was not right and it doesn't matter...he shakes his head. He can't be thinking about it now. This never happened anyway. This, this whole world is not real. No one will judge him, no one will know.

 

~Three~

~+~  
Peter thinks they should talk about it. But he doesn't know how. It's awkward at best to know that the serial killer who murdered your brother has the hots for you.

“Is it because I'm the only one here?” he asks and hopes Sylar gets it. Sylar cocks his head as if considering the question and then he shakes his head slowly.

“No, I always found you attractive,” he admits. He's not blushing or fiddling with the hem of his shirt or looking away. It's the truth and that's what Peter's asked for. He says it like that one time he said: 'You're not a killer, Peter. I am.'

~+~  
“I'm not...” he grits out and Sylar looks up. His hands on both sides of Peter's hips, pressed to the wall.

“I know,” he says, “it doesn't matter.” And Peter closes his eyes and lets him.

Sylar isn't touching him; his hands stay pressed to the wall. The only connection right now between them is the tip of Sylar's tongue on Peter's dick. Too light. Teasing and he maybe isn't into guys, but a blow job is a fucking blow job and it always feels good. A soft groan escapes his mouth as Sylar's lips slide over his length, tongue teasing the veins under the soft skin. The only thing he wants to do is just thrust. To push hard inside this warm, wet, eager mouth. He doesn't. He presses his own hands to the rough wall that keeps them both trapped here and closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see the look on Sylar's face. The noises are bad enough. The heat surrounding him, the feeling pooling low in his stomach. He bites his lip as Sylar's tongue drags over a throbbing vein and he suddenly sucks hard. God, Sylar is so fucking good at this, he thinks in the split second before his orgasm hits: unexpected and powerful.  
He opens his eyes to find Sylar still on his knees, sees him swallowing and bites his lip to keep in a moan.

~+~  
Sylar's banging against the wall like a crazy person. Like he lost his mind. The veins on his arms powerful, a contrast to his skin that is surprisingly soft. And Peter never should have found that out. Never.  
His mind flashes back to the night before. To Sylar's hands clenching the sheets, his veins standing out, his knuckles white from the effort. How his back arched when Peter slipped a third finger inside. How he bit back a groan, how Peter himself did. He wanted to bite that shoulder, feel the warmth, taste the salt pooled in the dip of his back. He didn't. He twisted his fingers to find that spot inside Sylar that would make him moan low in his throat and hit it as often as he could until Sylar went rigid and then all the tension was drained from him.  
They didn't say a word and Peter didn't touch Sylar anywhere except where his fingers were hitting Sylar's prostate.

“You're up early,” he says and Sylar stops and turns to look at him.

“Yeah...”

“Wanna get out badly now, hmm?”

“This is torture, Peter,” Sylar answers, looking into his eyes, making sure Peter gets the meaning.

And Peter doesn't know how to answer. This is torture and he knows he's done wrong, but he didn't know what else to do to keep Sylar sane, as Sylar does with him.

“Give me the other sledgehammer,” he says. Sylar does and Peter chooses to ignore the light shiver as their fingers touch, as skin brushes against skin.

~end~


End file.
